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The Star Dancer

I have no recollection of having posted this very short story. If I did, it would have been many months ago, and “followers” have changed drastically since. If it is a repeat for you, just ignore, although I have made some edits. thank you.

a short story by ~ Sha’Tara ~

One could almost say she had the characteristics of a winter bird without stretching the comparison. A killdeer on a windswept dune in December heard only after darkness covers the shores, that would describe her presence.

Slim of build, almost translucent of skin, she could stand in perfect stillness beside a doorway and remain unseen by those passing in and out. Generally silent, there was a quality to her voice that demanded stillness and silence. Not from weakness nor self-pity, her way of remaining in the background was her means of allowing her to observe the world, voicing some of her thoughts little more than the occasional soft word. She could just as easily remain alert and active for long hours without apparently tiring. Never was she seen indulging food or drink beyond a body’s basic needs. Her pleasure, and she radiated pleasure, did not emanate from satisfying carnal desires.

She was not what would be called pretty, but she was truly beautiful, with the movements of a small wild animal raising its head to look inquisitively at the world; with the velvety touch of an angel. And what to say of her attire? She wore no makeup and draped herself in the simplest of styles, in second-hand clothes. If asked why she didn’t spend more on herself, she’d smile, as if shyly, and shrug. “It doesn’t go with the innocence of children,” would be the extent of her explanation on the subject.

Certainly, the innocence of a child would have described her. She was called naïve by some. To that she’d reply, “Do not confuse naïvety with innocence. I choose to remain innocent. It is my way of counteracting the many grave faults of this man’s world. Do not make the mistake of thinking I am unaware of what goes on here or helpless to do anything about it.” Only then did her voice take on the severe tone of the Teacher, a tone of voice loaded with implications which none but the awakened caught.

She was an empath. Compassionate. When she interacted with strangers, she mostly smiled and helplessly, they would smile back at her and then at one-another. All children who met her were attracted to her, that is until the time when their innocence was forcibly taken from them. Then she faded from their eyes and their memory. They will not remember her until they get old and tears will roll down their lined faces in realization of what they had encountered; what they could have learned; how much it could have changed their lives.

There were tragedies in her life as in every life. Through it all, she brought hope and comfort where none existed. That was her nature — to give, not to take. It was as if she gave her own flesh and blood to those in need. She “fed and clothed” by what she did not spend on herself – that was one of her “open” secrets. But with each sorrow, her translucence increased. A dawn would come to finally dim her starlight beyond earthly recall.

It didn’t matter what they called her, I recognized her from times before time. She was of the Star Dancers; those whose home is the infinity of the Cosmos; who scatter themselves as stardust over myriad of worlds and touch the lives of countless others. Sadly, yes, some of us get lost and for long periods, sleep in forgetfulness. Our memories of the Star Dancer are but myths in the conflagration of time that burns within our confused minds.

But she did come. A speck of dust on the wind, perhaps, but she appeared on our horizon, burning off into the skies like a meteorite.

What does that matter now that she is gone, you may well ask? What matters is, she came, scattered a bit of magic stardust and there was joy where none was to be had; there was hope where despair had held sway.

What matters is, I can now remember and continue to do some of what she began. How could anyone forget such a passing? How could anyone mourn? How could anyone who ever encountered her not make a supreme effort to remember?

30 thoughts on “ The Star Dancer”

I was watching a show while reading through the different offerings tonight.It reminded me of your story. What would you do? A show where they try to see what people would do when presented with lose, with poverty…and the people who stepped up to make something beautiful for those in need. I like the term Star Dancer, for that is what the stars give us, something to celebrate and respect.

Thank you for your comment. Glad I checked my spam folder, it was in it. To the question: what would I do? I’ve been faced with that situation many, many times. I’ll relate two, one from about 30 years ago: I’m on the freeway, a vehicle with a trailer is stopped on the side, hood open – a man and woman and two kids standing, not doing anything. I pull over and walk back to see what was happening. “Transmission’s gone” says the man. “I’ve been feeding it oil all the way but it just quit.” “Can I radio for a tow truck?” I ask (we had company radios in our vans in those days) “We can’t pay for that, don’t know what to do.” Then the story: they’re on their way to the next city to rescue their daughter and her child from an abusive relationship; farmers from southern Alberta, poor as dirt, as I knew so well having been there. So I think about this for a few minutes. Then I get an idea: what would I do if this man and woman were my parents; these kids my siblings? I told them I’d pay for the tow truck, the repairs to their vehicle and their motel for the night. The man said, let’s try one thing first, if you can get me to a gas station, I’ll get some oil and we’ll fill the tranny, see what happens. So we did that. The vehicle started, it moved, I followed to the next town, then they decided since everything worked, to carry on. I heard from them several months later. Mission successful with the daughter, everybody back on the farm, no trouble with the vehicle. Some call these things miracles. I don’t call them anything except we must always do what’s right. Jumping to today, my neighbour, a single woman, retired and very broke, needs serious repairs to her vehicle. I offer to pay for the repairs (over $4000 is the quote) and I take her vehicle to a known and reputable garage for a second opinion. It was a complete scam: there is nothing wrong with her vehicle. She’s happy, I’m happy. What would I do? I don’t have to think about these things anymore, there is a flow in my life that allows me to “swim through society’s s**t” without smelling or gagging. This is what I’d like to be able to teach people: how this works, because I finally found something that does work, and for me that is terribly important. I have no use for things, however “popular” that don’t work.

Hey Phil, Always there with those “watch out” twists and acerbic comments. How about this, no they ideals don’t have to vanish, but the actors who portray them come and go. It’s up to us to pick up their mantle and keep up the game. Come to think of it, that’s kinda-sorta how I ended it. Yes, the game goes on.

I’m going to hang my spurs in the outhouse over here. That was a rhetorical question…And far from an acerbic comment. So to drop the perceived troll mantle I bid you enjoy the Holidays. Defensive is an uncomfortable posture for an artist to maintain, even a pinball wizard of your caliber. Wrangling semantics wrapped in attitude is a fool’s errand. Write well and often.

Oops, that was supposed to be a private email reply. Nobody needs to hack my emails, I blog them! I’d make a lousy politician, wouldn’t I – what? You want the whole world to know what you’re thinking? That’s not democracy!

Indeed, and those of us who cross their paths, or they, ours, instead of wondering who or what they are, can say, I like that, I’ll emulate it, I’ll live that way… and the world at that moment changes for the better one tiny little bit. Thanks for the thought, Roger.